


Not Alive

by Orobek



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), F/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 00:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16006907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orobek/pseuds/Orobek
Summary: You've heard it all before:You are an android specialist, and you've just started as a consultant with the Detroit Police Department.Connor? Check.Gavin? Check.Need I say more?





	Not Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update tags and stuff as I go. This is my first fic ever, so be prepared for hardcore tense and consistency problems (please feel free to share your criticism)! But I'll do my best to deliver some delicious shit to you freaks.

It’s already getting late as you arrive at the doors of the Detroit Police Department. You adjust your skirt and low-cut top. Was it too low-cut? You don't want to seem too stuffy to your new coworkers - so far, they've only seen you in your DPD uniform. But who likes a try hard?  
It's fine, no one cares about your fashion choices but you.

You've just started as a consultant with the Detroit police. You're an android specialist. Tech? Software? Mechanics? You got it. Even android emergent behaviours, as complicated as they are, you're building your knowledge of them. Maybe once you settle into the place, you can start cracking the whip on android standard practices. It's crazy how normal law enforcement is just left scratching its head when it comes to androids - perhaps you can do something to improve their suspect retention.

This evening, the DPD is hosting its yearly mixer in the conference room, which has been turned into a makeshift bar. New recruits get a moment to mingle with the officers and officials they haven't yet become acquainted with. You walk past the bullpen, you glance at your new desk. Empty. You haven't had much of a chance to clutter it up yet, seeing as you've only been here for about a week.  
A voice calls to you. Gavin Reed's voice. Lovely. He's already run you through an array of pick-up lines and innuendoes; your constant expressions of rejection haven’t yet made their way through his thick skull -- seeing as you've only been here for about a week.

"Princess!," he calls. You turn to face the assault. He's dressed himself in a smart little number. Black silk button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Slim slacks - a little too long. And a pair of seemingly brand new loafers. A glass of merlot in his fist. He would almost make for a handsome guy if it weren’t for his demeanor. Still, you find it kind of adorable how hard he tries to get your attention.

"Yes, hello Gavin”, you roll your eyes. 

"So, week number one all done with. Finished decorating your terminal with stickers? Soon you're gonna be working with the big dogs on the deviant cases," he gulps his wine.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s about time the big dogs were leashed. What with all the self-destruction going on around here. Share some of my sick knowledge, you know? I just don't exactly know what they want me to do. I've only done tech jobs before, never consulted."

“Honestly, I don’t know why they brought you on board,” he shrugs, “Fowler probably just wanted another pair of heels to gape at”.

You frown. How the fuck is someone supposed to respond to that? Does Reed have any idea of your qualifications? The nerve -- 

"Or whatever. Anything you can do that'll get those plastic pricks to stop exploding. That would be great. At this point, the acrid smell of blue blood does nothing but give me a headache."

He follows you to the conference room, which is bustling with the many officers of the DPD. The mixer's set-up isn't too bad. Someone decided November is a great time to decorate for Halloween. Those left over from the previous month were probably the only decorations they had. Better than nothing, right?

Gavin continues, "I bet you can't wait to meet the one and only android detective."

It was true. You've only heard rumors from your tech-friends about Cyberlife's newest model. It's rare. And details about it are largely confidential.

You pipe up, "Yes, how does it get along? Does it do anything cool?", after you've frowned at the drink options for an acceptable amount of time, you grab yourself a can of cider, deciding that glaring at them won't make them any less cheap.

"Oh, it was doing fine, last I saw. Aside from the quarter-sized hole in its face," Gavin snickers, "seriously, it managed to get itself shot by a deviant INSIDE a building full of cops. I can't believe Cyberlife is still sending a replacement prick after that fuck up. Maybe THAT was the breaking point in the higher ups' decision to hire you. They figured the tincan needed a babysitter. Anyway, the department's football team has a practice tomorrow evening, you should..."

You tune Gavin out, no longer interested. You're a bit disappointed. So maybe the new RK prototype isn't all that. You fell for the hype. It is just an android, after all. In spite of all the technology has done for humanity, it's not perfect. However, it's a little worrying. Gun fire in the office? And so recently? You are not trained for that sort of thing. All the same, you wonder when the replacement RK800 will arrive. While these thoughts simmer in your brain, you decide to pass some time mixing with detectives by the hors d’oeuvres table.

\--------

It’s nearing your time to leave, you note as you take a quick glance at your watch. You’re deep in conversation with Tina Chen when a voice bellows, “Hey, get in here!”.

You look to the source of the sound. A grey, shaggy man is leaning into the window of the conference room and looking out into the bullpen. He’s making beckoning wildly with his hands. It’s Hank Anderson. And he’s very drunk. You had said hello to the man once or twice before in the last week. Some of the officers had whispered to you about his difficulty with alcohol, but you didn’t think it was this bad. You try not to judge.  
An android enters the conference room. The replacement RK800, must be. He has an unimposing face, and dark, carefully tended hair.  
“Lieutenant, it is best that I spend this time to complete the paperwork left by my predecessor—”  
Hank does not seem to hear it “Congratulations, Lazarus. You weren’t going to introduce yourself to me again before getting back to work?”, he slurs.  
“Lieutenant, if you are having difficulty recognizing me, I would caution against consuming any more alcohol. My name is Connor, I’m the android sent by Cyberlife”.

“Right on cue”, The lieutenant murmurs to himself, “must be nice juss bein’ able to come back every time, huh?” He gave the android’s shoulder a clumsy shove.

Captain Fowler steps between the lieutenant and the android, “alright Hank, I think it’s time we call you a taxi.”  
Hank grumbles, but he seems to recognize the futility of his confrontation when the android displays nothing but mild confusion. The lieutenant is ushered toward the foyer, eyes on his shoes as he goes, leaving the android standing aimlessly among the other detectives and staff, who have now resumed mingling. The android’s LED cycles yellow.

You approach the lone android and give an impressed whistle. “Cyberlife’s latest and greatest.”  
“Hello, my name is C--”  
“Yes, I heard. They must have employed a new formula for your model, given your designation for law-enforcement. What are some of your specifications?”  
He recites an exhaustive list of tech-babble.  
“--I have also been equipped with advanced forensics and reconstruction software to facilitate investigation, as well as a cutting-edge geometrically reinforced ultralight-weight frame.”  
“Very impressive,” you hum.  
You heard a rumor that the RK series was programmed to be extremely goal- and reward-oriented. You wonder if that itch can be scratched.

At that, the very edges of his lips curve upward, “thank you. What is your name?”

You tell him. At that moment, Gavin Reed appears in your periphery.

“WHOOPS!”, before you can register what has just occurred, Gavin had thrown his wine down the front of Connor’s shirt. “Clumsy me! Gee, I’m sorry Connor”.

As Gavin turns to leave, he winks and makes a kissy face at you. Wow. Is he the most insecure man alive? This guy -- he’s all talk and hubris. How woefully transparent his tough-guy womanizer act is. The thought puts an evil smile on your face. Connor has noticed your smile, causing you to tuck it away instinctively. He pauses a moment, then, “that’s… Quite alright, detective Reed.”

You reach for a napkin on the table behind you and hand it to the android, who dabbed at his chest tenderly. He seems perturbed by the exchange with Reed. Maybe that has something to do with the social integration program he mentioned? If part of his programming is to fit in socially, you guess it makes sense that he would puzzle over confusing social interactions.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think detective Reed really likes anyone around here. It’s not personal,” you assure him, "listen, it was nice to meet you, Connor,” you chirp, turning to exit the break room, “but it’s about time I head home. I look forward to working with you.”

“And I, you,” the android nods. His voice is actually quite small -- delicate; you notice. His regard is intense. You can’t help but blush under the quiet scrutiny. Wait, he’s an android, why am I blushing? You remember yourself now. 

His smile now seems to you more steely than you first realized. He’s just a machine.  
The bullpen is empty. No bustling cops or buzzing terminals. Aside from Tina Chen and Gavin Reed. He has a new glass of wine.

“I’m heading out, it was nice seeing you two”, you extend the courtesy to Tina, not so much to Gavin.

He makes a move to return to the break room and the socializing staff, “Hey, you should hit me up, sometime, Princess. If you find any spare time between changing diapers and nap-time”.

That’s it.

Just as Gavin brushes past you, chin and jeering expression extended your direction, you stick out your foot. 

He lurches forward fabulously and lands heavily on his jaw. He managed to save the wine glass, but not the wine. Somehow, one of his loafers has found its way atop Lieutenant Anderson’s desk. Tina Chen simply gawks at him, then at you. Gavin peels his face off the floor and looks to you, dumbstruck.

You blow him a kiss, “clumsy me!”.


End file.
